


Dainty Ankles & Wolfboys

by Skaldic



Category: 10th Kingdom, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/10th Kingdom
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Meet Cute With Vampires, Summers Birthday Curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaldic/pseuds/Skaldic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were so many other places Dawn would like to be spending her eighteenth birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dainty Ankles & Wolfboys

There were so many other places Dawn would like to be spending her eighteenth birthday.   
  
New York City had sounded all kinds of awesome when Giles had asked if she'd mind running a few errands for Slayer Central. A _dark alley_ in New York City? Not so much. In fact, a dark alley in the Big Apple was about the same as a dark alley anywhere else. Smelly trash, check. Equally smelly homeless person, check. Vampires, double check, exclamation point. A stylishly gorgeous gal in very impractical clothes, packing medieval weaponry? Half a check.   
  
She had the stylish part down. Unfortunately, she'd traded her blade out for mace. She'd been more worried about _muggers_ than vamps. Stupid Dawn.   
  
"Get behind me," she ordered the smelly homeless person, and that was probably Anya levels of rude insensitivity. How would she like to be called something generic and dismissive based on her appearance? Like 'the cute brunette' or… Actually, that wasn't half-bad.   
  
Muffling a shriek, Dawn ducked a swinging fist and pushed the smelly guy — see, that was so much better — back, getting between him and the three vampires.  
  
"C'mon, Summers," she whispered, "head in the game."   
  
It figured, really; her first solo Scooby mission and she got caught with her daggers down. If she died, Buffy would never let her hear the end of it. Which was completely unfair, not to mention massively hypocritical. Like little Miss Died Twice had any room to judge.  
  
"Do you mean me?" Smelly Guy asked, sounding dazed from blood loss and scared. Good, plenty of fear to go around. Dawn hated being the only scared one.   
  
"Yeah, sure," she said, giving a tiny laugh that was in no way hysterical. Frantically digging through her purse, its contents spilling everywhere, she pulled out two stakes and reached back to shove the blunt end of one at him. When she felt him take it, she said, "Okay, there's usually a really nifty lecture series with this, but I left my pontificating pants at home. Long story short: stake through the heart, decapitation, fire. Kill 'em dead before they kill you."   
  
The vampires kept up the slow, freaksome approach, their expressions full-on bumpy-headed glee. The leader, who must have been turned in the '80s because that was some _severe_ Tina Turner hair, roared with laughter. He clapped his leather-clad bookends on the back. "Looks like we caught us a Slayer!"  
  
Dawn inwardly groaned. _Not_ a Slayer. And for the first time in a long time, she regretted it. Superpowers would come in really handy right now.   
  
"That's right," she said, lifting her chin defiantly. She hoped she didn't smell as terrified as she felt. "And if you turn around now, no one will get hurt."   
  
Especially her.  
  
"You…" Smelly Guy shuffled up beside her, his stake held in a tight grip. There was blood running sluggish from a bite wound on his neck and when he glanced at her, all she could see is the eerie glow of ambient light reflecting off his eyes. There was something about that green sheen. Something niggly. "You should run," he told her, pulling himself up to his full height, which was decidedly much taller than Dawn, even in heels. How novel. "Very fast and very far. Don't look back."  
  
"And a hero," the leader went on, his fangy grin spreading wide. "It's our lucky night, boys."   
  
A nervous twitch to his wiry shoulders, Smelly Guy shook his head. "Oh, I'm not a hero." The way he said it, so apologetic and ingratiating, reminded Dawn of Andrew at his most infuriating. _Then what are you?_ she wanted to yell. Smelly Guy glanced at her again, quick and furtive, and swallowed hard.   
  
Dawn felt any hope at winning this slide away. Sick certainty replaced it. Smelly Guy was going to try and make a break for it.  
  
Only no. He growled and launched himself toward the vampires in a streaking blur of inhuman motion. "I'm a _wolf!_ " The end of the word was swallowed up in a long, piercing howl. He twisted in faster than human eyes could follow, slamming the stake she'd given him straight into the leader's heart.   
  
Eyeshine! _That_ was the niggly.   
  
Dawn gaped at him in stunned silence. She didn't know werewolves could tap into the big growly outside of the full moon. Of course, she only had Oz to judge by and he'd been able to sniff things out any day of the week, full moon or not, so maybe it was a power thing, or a Hellmouth thing, or—   
  
_Head in the game, Summers._  
  
Giving a tiny growl of her own, this one of frustration, Dawn kicked off her totally cute, but totally non-fighty heels, and waded in to give Wolfboy a hand.   
  
Her stake in a two-fist grip, she stabbed the vampire he was grappling with in the back. She missed the mark because _of course she did._ Life hated her. Couldn't one Summers birthday go well? She tried again and got backhanded into the alley wall for her trouble. _Ow_. Guess not.   
  
Nobody ever talked about how hard it was to stab a pointy piece of wood through bone to the heart, especially when said bones were fully ambulatory and really frickin' cranky. For a Slayer, it didn't matter, but for everyone else? There were _reasons_ why old timey Watchers had used hammers. But having no hammer and fervently wishing for a crossbow that she also didn't have, Dawn fell back on time-honored Scooby tradition: she hopped onto the vampire she'd just unsuccessfully staked, wrapped an arm around his thick neck, and tried to distract him with a pointy piece of wood to the _face_.  
  
The vampire yelled in pain, reaching back to grab her. When he couldn't, he tried to smash her.  
  
Dawn grunted when the — now blinded — vampire slammed her back against the dumpster he and his buddies had cornered Wolfboy behind. Another slam and her head connected with something uncomfortably hard and things started getting fuzzy. No, go away, concussion, nobody likes you.   
  
"Slay him!" she shouted. Or tried to shout. It came out faint and slurring as the inside of her head did its best impression of a tilt-o-whirl. "Any day now."   
  
Wolfboy finally stopped dicking around and _slayed_. Dawn stumbled as her vampire piggyback ride vanished. Woozy, she reached up to touch her head and felt definite wetness under the unfun pain. So either she was bleeding or she was covered in dank alley slime. Neither were especially appealing.  
  
"He's running," Wolfboy rasped out, panting. Dawn blearily glanced over to see that, yes, the third vampire was hightailing. Or, well, he was staggering. Limping, really. It looked like a part of his leg was missing. She squinted after him. So maybe he was lowtailing?   
  
Wolfboy's glinting animal gaze slid to her. "I could run him down." There was blood dripping from his mouth. So that was where the missing leg part went. Ew.   
  
Frowning at his eagerness, Dawn prodded her head again and sighed when her fingers came away red. Not slime, then. Well, waste not, want not. She flexed her hand and inhaled. "No, it's okay. I got it." Holding up two bloodstained fingers, Dawn drew them in an arc in front of her and whispered, " _Ignis incede_."   
  
The last vampire never made it out of the alley. He screamed as he went up in a pillar of flames and crumbled to nothing.  
  
Dawn sagged, legs buckling as the strength of the spell was torn away. Wolfboy steadied her, keeping her from making friends with the ground. She groaned, trying to blink away the spots crowding her vision. "Oh, that wasn't fun." Lesson: leave the flashy mojo to redheaded professionals. "Ugh, I think I'm gonna barf."   
  
Carefully easing her into a sitting position, Wolfboy crouched beside her. "Cripes, you're a _witch_."   
  
Not liking the weight of the word, or the amount of trouble she'd be in if anyone else found out, Dawn waved it off. "Nah, I just dabble. I'm a dabbler."   
  
_But,_ hissed a nasty voice that sounded suspiciously like her bullshit detector, _wasn't Willow just a dabbler? Little forget-me-not study aids and floating pencils?_  
  
She ruthlessly pushed the thought away. One teeny tiny elemental shift wasn't a big deal. So what if she used her own blood to power it? Hello, her blood _was_ magic. She might as well put it to good use, right? And hey, seriously dusty vampire. You couldn't argue with the results.  
  
Yeah, except Buffy would argue. Buffy would argue lots. And Willow would sadface while Giles cleaned his glasses very disapprovingly.  
  
Dawn rubbed her aching head. Get patched up first, she decided, guilt later. "I need my shoes."   
  
Her strappy baby blue heels promptly slid into her dizzy line of sight. So did her matching, no-longer-spilled purse.   
  
She stared at them. "I need a mocha?"   
  
A tan, long-fingered hand settled on her shoulder. Dull understanding filtered in: Wolfboy. He'd gathered her things for her. That was nice. If she wasn't about to revisit what she'd had for lunch, she might say so. The hand gently squeezed. That was nice, too. "Sorry, I don't know what that is."  
  
"Forget it," she said, feeling slow and stupid. "Crazy concussion talk." She smoothed her skirt. She'd worn it because it was frilly and cute and short enough that Buffy would hate it if she ever saw it. Now, sitting on the cold, dirty ground, her head pounding like a drum, Dawn wished she'd worn jeans.  
  
"Why did you stay?" Wolfboy asked. Demanded, rather. He sounded honestly perplexed, like vamoosing and leaving him to an unpleasant death was what a normal person would have done. And maybe he was right. Maybe a normal person would have ditched him.   
  
It was safe to say Dawn had left any shred of normal several zip codes back.  
  
She dragged her purse over and started rummaging through its jumbled contents. "Three against one are bad odds. They'd have killed you."   
  
"They nearly _did_ kill you," he pointed out with a broad, fretful flutter of his hand. "You could have died."   
  
It was almost cute, his concern. Shrugging, she handed him a wet wipe. "Could have," she agreed, "but I didn't."   
  
When he just held the wipe, looking at it, Dawn sighed and took it back, impatiently nudging his head up into the weak light so she could wipe his mouth and chin clean. "Sorry for the manhandle," she said, not particularly sorry at all. "Bloody milk mustaches make people twitchy."   
  
When she finished, he stared at her, lightly rubbing his stubbly de-'stached face. "But not you."   
  
She tossed the dirty wet wipe aside. "I save up my twitchy for important things. Like near-death experiences and badly dubbed kung fu."  
  
"Aren't you afraid? I'm a wolf." He said it like it should mean something.  
  
"Aren't _you_ afraid?" she returned, gingerly rising to her feet. "Big fiery death and all."   
  
He didn't say anything to that, just rising with her, his hand curled around her elbow to keep her from stumbling.   
  
Of course, once standing, Dawn realized she should have put her shoes on while she was still sitting. Less likely to fall that way. She sighed and locked her wobbly knees. Dumb shoes. Why did they have to be so far away? Maybe she could step into them?   
  
She nudged one around with her toes. "What's your name?" she asked.  
  
"Wolf." He circled around her, his warm hand skimming from elbow to back to hip, and promptly knelt at her feet, ready to… help her into her shoes. When she just stared at him like he was the crazy person he clearly was, he grinned, jiggling one of her heels. "Oh, please, _please_. I've always wanted to do this."   
  
After a moment, Dawn slowly nodded. Why the hell not? They'd just saved each other's lives. If he wanted to give her the Cinderella treatment, she wasn't going to complain. She'd probably faceplant if she tried putting them on by herself anyway. Stupid, dizzy-making head injury.  
  
"I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you have such _dainty_ ankles. So slender and delectable."   
  
Dainty, delectable ankles. It was better than having fat, funky ankles, she supposed. Or smelly feet. Nobody wanted smelly feet.   
  
"Wolf's your name?" she asked, using his shoulder as a brace as she lifts her foot. Wolf the werewolf. Weird, but not the weirdest she'd ever heard.  
  
Humming a distracted affirmative, Wolf slipped the first shoe onto her foot with great care, then the other. Once shod, he stared at her feet, deeply focused, like they were the best feet he's ever seen and he was committing them to memory. "Perfect fit!" he declared, finally.   
  
Dawn snorted. As much as she'd paid for them, they'd better be.  
  
"Okay," she said in her best _I'm-an-official-Scooby-and-you're-not_ voice, "my feet are admittedly fabulous and deserving of much adoration, but up you get, Prince Charming." She gestured for him to stand. "I need to check that bite out somewhere that isn't septicemia waiting to happen."   
  
At 'Prince Charming', Wolf rose with a snap and leaned in to peer at her, giving her the same full-focus he'd given her feet. It should feel intrusive, wiggy; instead, it reminded Dawn of Miss Kitty Fantastico on the prowl: alert, watchful, seeing everything. It was a predator look.   
  
Instead of pouncing, however, Wolf just gave her a long, slow sniff, his eyes sliding shut in apparent bliss.  
  
Again, weird, but not the weirdest. Lots of demony types led with their noses. Heck, she'd even caught Spike stealing covert sniffs once or twice.  
  
Anyway, who was she to judge on weird behavior? She didn't even _exist_ four years ago.   
  
When Wolf opened his eyes again, he tilted his head. Very animal-ish that head tilt and very, very not human. "That was incredibly brave, what you did," he told her, the words low and velvety. Barely there, more warmth than touch, he brushed his knuckles across the curve of her cheek. "Staying. Rescuing me."   
  
Dawn's brain stuttered as it realized that under the torn, bloody clothes and eau du dumpster, Wolf was _hot_.   
  
And really, really close.   
  
"No one's ever called me a prince before," he continued in that same rich, intimate voice. Against the twilit haze of the alley, his dark eyes looked almost as black as his shaggy, back-swept hair, the stretching shadows throwing the lean angles of his face into sharp relief. His knuckles turned and drifted down, becoming fingertips against her jaw and, in that moment, Wolf looked every inch the _wolf_ he claimed to be — hungry, dangerous, unpredictable.   
  
He looked like he wanted to _eat_ her.   
  
Dawn wondered if she should have run when she'd had the chance. She wondered if she should scream.  
  
Swaying toward him, she wondered if she even wanted to.  
  
Then the moment was over, and Wolf was back to being a twitchy, confusing guy, which left her a very twitchy, very confused girl.   
  
Clearing her throat, Dawn _firmly_ nudged him toward the mouth of the alley. Bad brain; no biscuit. "You were just as brave," she countered. When he moved to counter her counter, she cut him off with another, far less polite nudge. "Let's just leave it at both of us being brave, huh? I'm Dawn, by the way."   
  
"Dawn," Wolf echoed, drawing out her name like a savory treat. " _Dawn_."   
  
He laughed then, bright and loud, and darted behind her. She could hear him pull in another deep breath through his nose and feel his exhale ruffling hot through her loose hair. She shivered. "Huff puff, of course! Sunrise, daybreak, first light, _L'Aurore_." He popped back up in front of her, his eyes dancing with mischief as he casually slid her purse strap onto her shoulder. His smile was startlingly white. "Silly me, I had the wrong Queen."   
  
It probably said something about Dawn that she was more comfortable with non-humans (even growly, sniffy, mercurial non-humans) than she was her own kind.   
  
Something depressing.  
  
They walked in silence for a little while. Or Wolf walked and she leaned against his arm for balance. After he sniffed her for the seventh time in as many minutes, he said, "You _really_ aren't scared of me. Not even a little." The pleased astonishment there made Dawn feel a little sad for him.  
  
"So? You're not gonna eat me, are you?" Teasing, but not. The last growly werewolf she'd heard about was Veruca and everyone knew how that turned out.  
  
Wolf whined a very literal canine whine and he rushed to assure her, "Oh! Oh, no! No, no. I couldn't _possibly_ eat you, my not so Sleeping Beauty. You saved my _life_. That would be deeply, deeply ungrateful. And we wolfs always show our gratitude. Always. No, I am at your _service_. I am your wolf! I am—"   
  
Dawn covered his mouth with her hand. "You're hyperventilating, that's what you are. Breathe."  
  
He paused and did as she said. Of course, he used it as an excuse to smell her again, but at least he _was_ breathing.   
  
They both were. There were worse birthday presents.


End file.
